A Tale Of Two Coffee Dates, Or, There Is A God!

So on AOL several days ago, this guy flags me down. Likes my profile. Calls me Sir. All hot to trot. Let's meet up. He was a blond rugby player, lived not too far away. I suggested we meet up at Starbucks in Doylestown. To see if the connection was good for both of us, or whatever. As Lolita once told me, "The internet doesn't mean shit; you gotta smell'em."

And, it turns out that I didn't look at my schedule before making our Starbucks date. And I actually had to do some rearranging. But when I got there, on time, he was waiting for me.

Okay. So not immediately visually arresting. We got coffee and found an open table on the porch.

And it was torture. Just so awkward. Like our parents had set us up or something. I did my best to b e affable and pleasant--and I do really good affable and pleasant--but after about fifteen minutes, he said, "Oh, excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom."

When a half hour had passed, I decided that he had, in fact, fired me.

Yeah, well.

Of course, it was a stunning day at Starbucks, and all the hot Starbucks hangin' boys were out in force. All the straight Starbucks hangin' boys.

"Dang it!" I said as I drove home, "Why the hell can't there be just one gay man in the Delaware Valley who isn't one of those gussied up inebriates with elaborate hairdoos from the Raven?"

(Okay, not that they're all gussied up inebriates with elaborate hairdoos. Why just last night I chained up a man in my garage who definitely is not a gussied up inebriate with an elaborate hairdoo.)

Then today, I was hanging on AOL, chatting with one of my latest internet buddies, a Grand Poobah of the Leather World from SF who, it turns out, is a really warm, wise, and engaging man. And I get flagged down by this guy. His screen name was some unintelligible string of alphanumerics. k203r498ua or something.

He liked my profile. I checked his out. Huh. Military. That might be promising. We chat for a while. Seems like he can hold down his own in a conversation. So I suggest we meet up at Starbucks. He's down with that. But not the one in Doylestown. One down in Warrington, south of me. But I figure I can make it in a half an hour.

I get there fifteen minutes early, and sit in my car. And he gets there ten minutes early.

And... gosh... he's kinda got it going on.

He kayaks, too. In fact, I'm a punter compared to him. He's kayaked around the world. So I decided I'd drive him up and show him Lake Galena, where I do my kayaking. We talk.

And he's pretty great to talk to. Full of stories, and some interesting experiences for one so young. (He's 26.) Okay. And then he mentioned... that... he was... Russian.

We were off to the races. I was telling him all about my love of the Russian people, my time in Moscow, he was telling me about Russian generals he was working with in Bosnia telling him they liked him even though he was "on the wrong team."

We had a great time. It was blah blah blah blah blah. The whole time. And I really like the guy.

We ended up back in the parking lot of Starbucks, in agreement that we had to get together again.

Gosh. A hot, butch, hunky little Russian bear cub. Wouldn't he be fun to show off down at MAL. ("And this is my boy...") And go to the beach with. And go kayaking with. And take him to the Leatherman to get him his first vest. And... and there's a Russian banya down in Southampton PA!

Okay okay okay. Way ahead of the game.

But a solid possibility of a hot boy I can spend time with who lives a half an hour away from me...

Whoa.

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